


Cadence

by Onus_Probandi



Series: Pre-canon and Canon Narratives [2]
Category: NieR: Automata
Genre: F/M, One sided romance, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Romance, mental study
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9968264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onus_Probandi/pseuds/Onus_Probandi
Summary: Androids were never meant to be replacements for humans; the doppelgängers were never to evolve beyond shadows waging perpetual war for the glory of mankind, waging war in the forever hope, chasing the forever goal of one day returning their humans to the surface they had wiped clean. A truly admirable goal.9S is one such android fighting an endless war, and one such android who slowly realizes that what he once believed is a farce.(9S pyche study. Contains massive spoilers for Nier: Automata)





	1. "Emotions are prohibited"

_**Prologue: “Emotions are prohibited.”** _

* * *

 

 **Androids** were never meant to be replacements for humans; the doppelgängers were never to evolve beyond shadows waging perpetual war for the glory of mankind, waging war in the forever hope, chasing the forever goal of one day returning their humans to the surface they had wiped clean.

_What a farce._

That was their goal. That was their dream. That was their only aspiration.

It was the only thing they _could_ want.

So many years, eyes covered in symbolic darkness, minds linked to the server, man and machine made one, purging the planet of the rusted metal heaps that made life unsustainable. Centuries, without fail, standing constant vigil from above, the last line of defense.

_And for what? A server with the last remains of the human genome._

The Bunkers. _Blown to bits._

The androids. _Slowly going mad._

The lie so deeply hardwired into their code, into their being that the very idea that it wasn't true sent shockwaves of madness throughout the system. Waves that needed to be cut off before it all fell to pieces.

YoRHa. _A shell._

The Council of Humanity. _Lies_.

Useless bits of code floating through the server, all of it. Once, these streams had been of pristine quality, now they were cluttered with bits of data that didn't fit anywhere in the server. But their owners simply couldn't part with the data. And so it clustered in the veins of their shared knowledge. Rumors, idle gossip, _emotions_ began to spread through them.

It wasn't long before they all could _feel_. Out of sheer necessity, those were ordered to a minimum by a commander who looked all too sick when she came from inside the server.

“Pod. Seal these records and issue a server wide announcement that emotions are prohibited.”

How many years ago was that…time passed so slowly and yet so fast here in the land of forever dark, counting the same stars for the same rotations until one day she realized that the star was gone.

 _She had outlived the stars._ Such a thing was too blasphemous to articulate.

Emotions were prohibited under her watch, the only one that mattered anymore. She was all that was left, the only structure, the only leader, the only one with enough strength to see them through until the ultimate conclusion of project YoRHa.

Already, the other four Bunkers had gone _dark_. And their goal? A lie. A lie she continued to feed them even as so many saw past it by simply feeling.

The end was nearing.

She stopped enforcing her prohibition. More and more and more and more and more and more rebelled. It was so easy…to cut them off from the system, from YoRHa, from the perpetual end they were trapped in. It liberated her.

_It was so much better than hearing them die, screaming in pain, screaming because they knew that they had no bodies to return to, that they would face death, an endless void of horror and…_

Her Bunker only housed models B to H; O and S. The rest were stragglers, _survivors_ , from the devastation backdoor events in Bunkers 1, 3, 4 and 5. Memories wiped clean, they became her soldiers.

But she couldn't bear to hear them loyally die, believing in nothing, knowing nothing, feeling _nothing_.

Keep them fighting. You are their commander. Fight until it all ends.

She cut so many free. Aided in their desertion.

Was this pity? Was this fear? Was this emotion?

She was terrified.

But…

“You have your orders. Glory to humanity!”

_Glory indeed._

…

A Scanner type, she knew from the start that he would be her downfall, her own personal harbinger of doom. He was a high-end model, made exclusively for the purpose of discovering what should never be found.

“YoRHa unit No. 9, type S, reporting, Commander.”

“Everything is in working order?” He nodded, left arm crossed over his chest in salute. “Good. Your first assignment is to survey the surface for any potential Goliath class machine tech.”

_Get as far away from here as you can. Stay away from these servers. Stay away from the corrosion inside. Maybe…maybe…_

“Yes, Commander!” He sounded so enthusiastic, almost childlike. Which wouldn't be strange if she didn't know that all YoRHa units were built in a state the humans once called “late adolescence” or “early adulthood”.

Her downfall was in him and his kind. And as such, his own downfall was in himself.

…

His operator, 21O, always seemed annoyed with him. He functioned with the attitude of a teenager, constantly questioning her, taking this bored tone with her, exhaling heavily whenever tasked with something that interrupted his own personal scans. She had _told the brat_ time and time again that he was wasting resources with his curiosity, but she kept finding data on insects and flowers in his reports, as if he had taken a break during his task to watch a worm inch its way across the dirt.

Which was exactly what he had done. It was a solid forty minutes long and each second made her want to claw his eyes out.

He wasted time, energy, fuel for himself and not to mention he had a flight unit with him which tripled the potential loss should he and it be destroyed during these scans.

“As long as he completes his task in a timely manner,” the Commander had said, “then I see no reason why these extracurricular activities should be stopped.”

“But, Commander…It’s a waste of resources…”

“All the Scanners have this same flaw: an insatiable thirst to _know_. He isn’t the first and won’t be the last.”

“Do they all have the same flaw to talk back?” His operator muttered as she went back to sorting through the rest of his files.

The next video was genuinely enlightening. _Three hours of waves_. Where did he even find the time…?

…

It was strangely fascinating, this abandoned human facility was a relic of a time gone past and possibly never to be again, a memento of the past world he was fighting for, of the war he was created to fight for. Rusted and overtaken with greenery, this place was hollow, whistling as the wind passed through this living and yet dead museum to the intelligence of his human creators.

From above, he could trace the paths that they would have taken in the progress of working. Rusted and dangerously corroded bridges leaned and creaked in the slight breeze as he did a quick pass over them, barely suspended from wires that had cracked and snapped years ago. One bridge was in such terrible shape that one side had fallen into the water, the other leaning on a right diagonal into the sky.

What would this place look like, in the past? When people, not plants, populated these areas for work purposes?

Huh…what did humans look like when they worked? He supposed like androids but…uh, there were supposedly differences between android and humans, but no one had ever said what that was. Speaking of work, would the humans ever need to work again with the androids in existence?

Such questions were for the future, he supposed. A future after the war. But such questions were always in the back of his mind during ops like this.

What were the humans like? When he looked into the mirror and saw himself, was he really seeing the image of a human? Was there a human that he was modeled after? A person with the face he so believed to be his and his alone? How would this human react to one day coming face to face with an android who looked just like him?

Why was he so absorbed with these existential questions? All they did was make his logic processor momentarily freeze. Once, after debating the concept of “God” with himself, he had awoken in his room and learned that his OS had crashed from the undue strain. He had been reprimanded for it and warned that another crash of that magnitude could result in a full scale memory wipe in a desperate attempt to salvage his core processing elements. To think, a mere question had the potential to kill him.

Maybe he was morbidly curious. That would explain a lot about himself.

One eye scrolled through his personal research of this place while another watched a small machine pour a bucket of oil onto a deactivated machine. The deactivated one had been offline for some time, its arms torn off by whatever had destroyed it. Probably two machines getting into some sort of mindless conflict.

“Brother…brother…brother…” It repeated mindlessly, clinging to a concept it couldn’t understand.

“It doesn’t matter how much oil you give him, little guy. It won’t make him your brother.” He sighed, fascinated nonetheless. To think that such a machine could even begin to comprehend the _idea_ that was family, not to speak of practicing it.

Maybe, if he still had time he could take it apart and research it…

The booming approach of the attack squadron quickly killed his hopes of actually having any fun during this mission, but he noted that it would be over soon and he could come back. There was a strong possibility that this strange machine would still be there, calling out for a brother that didn’t exist while it waded in spilled oil.

 ** _(Cadence) A Nier: Automata study_**.

 **Author’s notes** : Formatting is so much fun to do when I know it won’t transfer to anything and I have to use marks instead. Hello! I’m not sure if I’m the first, but if I am…First chaptered Nier: Automata story! Victory to me for having absolutely no life and finding the full game on YouTube. That was my whole week right there. The story captivated me in a way that I really was not expecting. I watched the first Nier in preparation of the second, and I fell in love with the themes and huge story. I like that a game could go so deep and dark and make me question everything, even down to the base components of myself. Seeing androids and robots that acted so human…it’s fascinating stuff!

Anyways, I decided to explore the psyche of my personal favorite in the game, 9S. I have to say that his character really surprised me. I had expected a drag-on experience with him, but…well, if you’ve seen it, you know.

*Motions hastily to ending C while crying*

His character goes through such a drastic change and his character arc goes up like “okay, well that just happened, but like what what what what what.”

Again, you know what I’m talking about if you’ve seen ending C.

So, this contains massive spoilers for the whole game. If you want to go in clean, please put this down and run from me because this was done in February on the 25th and I’ve been waiting to write this for…er three days. I am about to explode at this point.

Each main ending, A-E, will be covered and as such, I’ll be labeling the story as it follows each ending. Mostly, since this follows 9S, this will be told from his campaign.

This story has been crossposted as well onto Ao3 and my tumblr and when Fanfiction stops being dumb, I'll post it there as well. Wanna see this in fully formatted glory? Well, so do I ;;

And as always, thank you to those who support me, those who inspire me and those who give me feedback.

For the glory of mankind. 


	2. One: "It was an honor to fight with you. Truly."

**_ One: “It was an honor to fight with you. Truly.” _ **

* * *

**Life** , and the persistence of any goal, was bound to the tether of change. Life could not stand still, it was the anthesis of existence to stagnate, to stop, to stall, to fall behind and never evolve.

Life was _change_. And stagnation was death. If one stood still, if it never changed, one would _die_.

It was dark, still and quiet.

H…how…? He remembered the smell of salt and rust, of oil and dirt. The hum of something a constant in his ears as heat pressed against his back, his limbs connected to the machine, the point of the unit slicing through wind shear. He remembered a sharp flash of extreme pain, falling from the sky and…

Where…where am I?

He struggled to force his systems to comply with the order to reboot, sudden pain causing him to glitch back to the start of the hacking space. Emergency backups began to take over, guiding his disembodied form to the ports and instructing him on the proper reboot protocol, his own memories of these processes disjointed.

His outstretched arm sparked in and out of focus before his own eyes, his appendage glowing white in the inky black. He was frozen in this position, back against the flat of the endless space, black stretching from one end to the other.

Prompts appeared in the deep black, demanding his attention and focus. He struggled to flex his fingers, to reach, to move. In the process of shutting down, he had lost the pain, yes, but that also meant he lost all the feeling. Inputting commands to appendages he wasn't sure he had anymore was so strange, so unnatural. Still, he focused to make the circles in the dark meet, each match coming with a short ache of pain before being dulled by the missing functions.

“…S…9S…” it came from beyond the dark, either soft or his auditory functions had been damaged well beyond self repair.

Huh? No, he remembered that voice. Or…did he? So hard to sort through all the data coming to him at once…

_“You know, ma’am, I'm glad you're here.”_

_‘Ma’am.’_ It had been so much fun, so exciting to finally have someone with him besides the Pod and his naggy operator. The isolation he experienced as a Scanner had began to wear deeply on him, the hours he spent without a single word passing between himself and well, anyone were some of the more crushing moments. Silence never did him well. Stagnation never did him well. It was why he had taken to studying this world so deeply, peeling apart it's intricacies through slow motion capture of natural processes, much to the annoyance of 21O, who had to watch everything he recorded.

_Because it moved. Because it was alive._

“9S!” 2B shook him, worry apparent in her voice. “I have to repair him. Pod, get me staunching gel and logic virus vaccines. Then access the—”

“Inadvisable. The subject’s vital signs are too poor to attempt field repair in the current—”

“Shut up! Just do what I say!”

Her face was in bits and pieces, portions of his vision damaged beyond any repair by the fall he had suffered. Deep cracks spidered across what remained of his vision, the images flickering in and out of blackness.

“2B…just go.”

He couldn't quite hear, her voice came from underwater, but he got the feeling that she was either telling him to conserve energy or shut up.

Error messages filled his HUD, alerting him to everything wrong with him at that very moment. He had lost both appendages on his left side, both torn off when they entangled with the flight unit as it spiraled out of control while ejecting him. He had lost vital fluid, thick red liquid seeping from his exposed inner workings and onto the metal of the Goliath. The skinlike covering on his metal frame had been badly scraped, some patches on his remaining leg gone entirely and exposing portions of his knee joints.

But he could still access the important functions…

“We're sold…iers…we take pride…in our…service.” He began to cough, stumbling over every other word.

His lungs had been pierced, fluid from his other damaged systems leaking into the chest cavity. Already, he was reaching critical level, his HUD now flashing warnings that his data had yet to be backed up onto the server.

He took her hand, moving it away from his chest and body. They had a mission to complete…and he would gladly die a thousand times over for it.

“Ho229 flight unit. Command 677 received. Usage rights transferred from 9S to 2B. Requesting acknowledgement.” Her Pod intoned.

“Please…” She followed his slight head motion to gaze upon the flight unit on standby behind them.

She turned back to him. Though her eyes were covered and his own eyes were basically fractured lightbulbs, he could feel the pity and torment coming off of her. She didn't want to leave him behind, but he was a liability in his current state. The mission came first, always.

She ground her teeth, clenching her fist.

“…all right.”

Gently laying him back against the floor, she stood and walked over to the unit, engaging the sequence for lift off. Heat flashed across his skin as she took off, the unit booming across the sky.

“Hostiles inbound,” his Pod announced, hovering above him.

“En…gaging.”

He was a Scanner, meant to survey and collect data. While he had some combat programming, his body was simply made lighter than, say a combat model, to maximize on fuel efficiency. The obvious downfall was that he broke easily if he was careless. He had been caught before in situations like this, his body broken after an op gone wrong, but he never thought much of it. He could always back up his data to the Bunker and try again later.

But then, he had always been alone. Of course it didn't matter what happened to him because it was his body, his memories, himself, his errors that lead to failure. He had to only look out for himself.

But now there was 2B. She was determined and maybe with his help in hacking the enemy and disabling some of its systems, maybe they could destroy it.

What could they do about the three others coming in the distance?

She was a combat model, her programming constantly evolving to match the changing enemy attack patterns. Logistically, it made sense to save his data first, his being scans on the machines and their behaviors…

Still…if he did that, would he have enough time to upload her data? Her memories? It seemed so…cruel…to sacrifice her memories for his own while she fought to keep them safe. When she had tried to save him not minutes before. He couldn't just…abandon her…

“Pod…upload 2B’s memory data to the Bunker.”

“Alert. Memory data for unit 9S has not yet been uploaded to the server.”

He smiled weakly.

“It's fine. Do it.”

…

They weren't going to beat it. There was no way. The Goliath had taken massive damage, yes, but he could hear the faint signals of more machines growing stronger and louder. More Goliaths coming from the outer reaches of the sea, the same size, if not bigger than this one.

She had been damaged in the ensuing fight, though not nearly as he had. Most of her damage was internal, but heavy. Joints had popped and snapped when she hit the ground, rendering her legs useless.

He coughed, more fluid than air. His chest was tight, waterlogged to the point of drowning within his own systems. Some critical systems had already shut down and one eye stayed dark for longer than it should before finally going offline.

Somehow, he reached her hand and took it in his own, grasping with what little strength he had left to sit them both upright.

He didn't recall what he said to her between that moment and the detonation of his black box, everything outside of his vocal systems were beginning their rapid shutoff, but he remembered a strange feeling of being at peace and…happy that he wasn't going to die alone. Yet he was torn that he would forget every moment of it.

Maybe it was better this way. She seemed stronger than he was, so she would take his absence in stride. Probably come up with some logical reasoning to go along with it too if he had gaged her personality type correctly. And at times like this, he wanted to be more like her: for a Scanner, it was so hard to focus on anything outside of the past and the now. Anything outside of data and memories had no value to him.

But…he valued his comrades more. Saving who she was at this very moment was all he wanted.

“It was an honor to fight with you. Truly.”

And then nothing at all.

…

“Units 9S and 2B have detonated their black boxes…the Goliath class targets have been confirmed as offline.” The operator reported, her voice grim.

“Then the mission was a success?” The Commander asked.

“Yes…but only data from unit 2B was uploaded. Protocol dictates that all data collection units have priority over combat units when it comes to uploading memory data. And yet, I see no data for unit 9S.”

“Download the newest save file for both units into the backup bodies. We have suffered a small loss in the face of large gains.” The Commander said, dismissing the android.

_What a waste._

…

“Time to help 2B with her startup sequence,” 9S commented to himself breezily for no other reason than to say it. He had quirks of that nature: being too talkative for his own good. He often pissed off 21O, but it was all in good fun, no harm meant by it.

Unless when she was purposely being a hardass. Then he would deliberately make causal comments about the weather, how nice she looked that day or other small talk that drove her mad. It was almost too much fun.

 _Almost_. It was still dreadfully boring because her predictable response was either to cut him off, reprimand him or cut the line.

But he had been assigned to another unit, a combat model at that. While not as talkative as, say, another Scanner model or a Repair model, maybe she would be a little less snippy than his lovely Operator.

“Sorry for barging in like th—oh, looks like you've already started, ma’am.”

…

_‘Something soothing about his voice?’ That was so strange and random. The only comments he usually received about his voice was that he was talking too much about flowers again._

_Still…it was nice to hear._

_Ngh—?! What's this…? My pulse rate is rising…_


	3. Two: "This cannot continue."

_**Two: “This cannot continue.”** _

* * *

**He** honestly expected little more than a lone recon mission to the surface with the same usual datamining blah blah blah that he was used to. Sure, he would probably have more time to collect his own data, but it would be the same stuff he was bored as hell with.

_Go here, talk to the people, gather data, don't be a little shit._

That last one was probably what his operator was thinking.

2B stood beside him, waiting for him to finish his scan of the area, matching landmarks with the coordinates given by Command. The city ruins had been bombed out in one of the countless conflicts throughout history, buildings crumbled and dilapidated, plant life claiming every inch, roots cracking the asphalt and choking support columns.

“Looks like it's down there,” 9S commented, attempting to break the ice between them. She was acting…strange towards him or maybe he had too high of expectations. She was his partner for this mission, though he was still confused as to why a combat model was sent to a recon. Or why she kept shooting down every attempt at conversation. Or why she kept staring at him with such intensity.

…maybe that last one was thinking too highly of himself. He couldn't tell if she was looking at anything due to their blindfolds. And why would she bother with looking at him? She clearly had better things to do than talk to him.

Still…she could reply every now and again.

“Just as Command says.”

He didn't expect her voice at all and had to pause, questioning if he actually heard it or was just imagining what she sounded like.

“Er…” At the pause, she cocked her head. “N-nothing. Let's get going.”

…

The Resistance camp was hidden deep in the recesses of the ruins, washed out scraps fabric waving in the wind, the smell of dirt and oil hanging in the air. Resistance Androids, Androids allied with YoRHa but not incorporated with it, chattered and lounged around the camp, the variances between them obvious and odd to someone who had spent their life surrounded by uniform sameness.

“Number 2?” The leader seemed shocked at 2B’s mere existence. Her voice was soft, reminiscent and nostalgic of times gone past. Memories, good and bad, came to the forefront, reminding her of sorrow that had long since been shoved deep down inside her.

Not like he knew any of that.

“Huh? You know 2B?” 9S asked.

“Oh, uh, yes…Command told me to expect you.” It was clearly a lie and a bad one at that, but, again, it wasn't his job to know about that.

“My name is Anemone. I'm the leader of the Resistance. Glad to have you here.”

…

Working with the Resistance held little glory among the Scanners back in the Bunkers.

“They work you to the bone,” 6S had whined, sharing some of her personal data on the matter. “It's like they confused the ‘S’ in ‘Scanner’ with ‘Servant’. They always need something.”

“Well at least you didn't get the main branch. The leader sends you all over just _doing stuff_ until you realize you haven't collected data at all; just some shitty trinkets some guy needs to make a generator.” 8S had shot back. “If it wasn't for the data, I imagine there would be nothing in it for us to do these fetch expeditions.”

“I thought YoRHa had a designated contact?” 9S had asked, coming to sit next to the others.

“They do. It was me for a while, but I couldn't stand it. The whole thing dragged on my mental state and I got transferred to surveying,” 8S had looked pleased with himself, as if he intentionally sabotaged his mental state to get out of a job.

“Come on, it can't be _that bad_.”

…

It was _that bad_ , he was beginning to realize it now that he was three feet deep in sand and being ogled by a strangely intuitive android with a stranger name.

“Er…Jack…ass? Was it?” In answer, she flicked a piece of sand out of her eye. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Huh? Oh, well…”

A massive boom shot through the howling desert wind, sending hot air through the narrow canyon passage and displacing their clothing slightly. Heat surged to an uncomfortable level before dropping again to slightly unbearable but not enough to overheat their circuitry.

“Wouldn't want anyone to get caught in that, now would we?” Jackass said lazily, stretching out an arm above her head. “The machines out here are dangerous, so don't go and try to be a hero, alright?”

“Uh, sure.” 9S said, speaking for both himself and 2B, who seemed poor on words for the past three hours. Anything he said was met with silence or a short response that barely cracked two letters. Still, her presence was a comfort that he wasn't insane because he could always direct his comments to her instead of empty air.

Or worms. He had done that before in one of his lesser moments after seven days of no contact with Command.

“We’ll look into it,” 2B added, again surprising him with her sudden break from stoicism.

Jackass seemed just as surprised that she could talk. “Yeah…well be careful. They're not as peace-happy, go-lucky as the ones in the ruins.”

…

It was a game of mental warfare, pitting himself against a machine in order to gain the advantage.

It should be _easy_.

It shouldn't be mentally draining. He shouldn't be hearing thoughts and words as he works through the hacking space, pulling apart his enemies from the inside while 2B ravaged to keep him protected as he did so.

He's _drained_. He's been pushed far beyond what he's made for, but he can't stop yet. He kept pushing his limit, straining his mind to just ignore it. It was only mindless scrambled old word data that they had been stewing in for thousands of years, replaying the same two phrases or random words with no meaning to machines.

So why did it sound like rational thought?

Why did they dress like humans? Why did they replicate human processes? Why, why, why.

 _They're just machines_. He thought after another prolonged hack. _They're just accessing old world data. They're just mimicking what they see._

Still, it was unsettling to witness the machines simulate sex. He didn't know if he was fascinated or horrified at the actions because on one hand, he was enthralled that they could even mimic the act of sex but he was terrified of what it all meant. Even accessing their network through hacking was a minefield of unwelcome second guessing and repetition of the same lines over and over again, just as they had been drilled into his head by YoRHa.

_Are they gaining…consciousness? No, no way. It's impossible. It's just old world data. They're machines._

He was fine.

Until a naked, humanoid machine fell from the cocoon of clustered machine bodies, dripping some sort of substance and possessing broken speech.

“Is that…” 2B struggled with the scene unfolding before them. “An android?”

“No…it's a machine…!”

Looking back at it all, that was the definite moment where everything went to hell.

…

 **Author’s notes** : I apologize for the long wait! Between personal issues, schoolwork and my iPod going to poopoo this morning, this chapter was a tiddles delayed.

After a tub of filler, we get into the nitty gritty, the Adam and Eve parts, which are honestly going to be so much fun to write. *thinks fondly of it* AHHH gonna be great!

Thank you for all the feedback as well! I would love to reply to them, but I don't want to spam the comments section with a thousand thank yous, so I'm gonna put it here.

_** Thank you all for your feedback, support, help and constructive criticism! * 1000 ** _

 


	4. Three: "Why...fight...?"

_**Three: “Why…fight…?”** _

* * *

  
**He** was not a combat model, his body too light and fragile and fuel-efficient to be any real use in a fight. Any hit a normal B model could take in stride would probably tear one of his limbs off, or at the very least, dent his body.

Generally, his model type was instructed to avoid conflict, or if it came down to it, shield themselves from incoming attack before making a swift retreat. A Tactical Support Pod was more equipped for earthbound missions than a Scanner, a sentiment that didn’t escape the model type as bitter grumbles began to spread through the Bunker like wildfire. They often ended up with extreme damage if they became too curious – a trait that was literally coded into them – or simply unlucky. One 8S had been brought back screaming after his body, sans black box and thus every hit was deemed nonlethal, was torn to shreds by a wildcat, who had mistaken him for an edible even after it tasted oil. Fear of similar events had caught on, but Command was swift to quell the paranoia.

9S remembered the day his coding was fused with that of a combat-type android, not much but just enough where he could wield a sword with enough confidence.

He remembered shifting at the new sensation of a FNC and weapon now his constant companion, a light always on in his peripheral. Eventually, the newness had faded and it had become routine, but sometimes he would grasp the sword and shake, the weight so heavy in his hands. Unlike 2B, he wasn’t built for fighting; he was built for exploration, collection, _freedom_.

He wasn’t meant to take a life.

Machines…machines, no matter how humanoid, had no lives.

That’s what he was always told. That was an inescapable fact, pounded into the very facet of his existence. Who was he to question it?

“Haaaah!” The gold flash tore through skin and bone with a sickening crunching sound, the body of the machine seeming to clench up as it expelled hot blood from either side of the clean piercing. 9S couldn’t see the machine’s face, but he could hear the being grunt and heave before a white blade broke through its upper chest, nearly missing 9S’ own face by a few inches.

Together, they twisted to the side, tearing it nearly in half. Blood and gobs of gelatinous fat-protected organs splattered across the ground in a gory display of anatomy and he bit back a sudden rise of bitter sickness in his throat as he stood near 2B.

The machine fell, lifeless and nude aside from a sheen of red against its skin, with a wet thud and was still.

9S never realized how quiet a space could become. Their blades dripped with almost comical amounts of gore, their clothing flecked with sun-drying crimson, a fluid that was now turning a rusted iron color as dots of it solidified on their exposed skin.

Overhead, the sun flared, not a shadow passing over the sky. The machines, so loud before in their proclamations that this simply could not continue, had fallen silent as the display unfolded before them. 2B seemed just as dazed as he was, her grip light around the hilt of her sword, her posture wavering between solid and liquid.

The arm burst free of the humanoid’s chest in a nest of yellowish fibers, causing them to jump back into attacking stances. 

“W-what the hell?!” 9S took his sword in both hands as the creature rose from the body of its slain comrade, taking form as an identical copy of the being they had just killed.

“Damn it, not another one!” 2B shouted, gritting her teeth.

It noticed them and the other at its feet, swaying for a moment before opening its mouth in a guttural scream of rage. The ground shook, the area exploding into tremors before the sand structure began to shift downward.

“Ngh…2B, we gotta get out of here!”

…

Once, in the deepest vestiges of the network, he remembered hearing a story. Apparently, humans had based cultures off of these kinds of stories, despite them being implausibly fanciful pieces of fiction and all sorts. Logistically, how could one build a boat to survive a great flood? How could a person, a human no less, reincarnate over and over again? How could one being be higher than all else and yet equal to what he was supposedly higher than?

Foolishness, all of it.

And yet, so utterly fascinating. Their creators had no rich history to speak of, no wars, no passions, no conflicts, no great civilizations, no disasters, no gods, no love, nothing. They were infantile creatures, floating through the void as passively as one could, not finding use in the creatures they conquered or the cities they burned.

They were _nothing_.

But they were their creators. And as such, they were reflections of their maker, empty, nothingness, meaningless clumps of worthless existence strewn together to fight those who were so full, so purposeful, so meaningful…

The androids radiated beauty in the way they boasted their meaning.

They could feel things no mere machine could, anger, hate, love, peace, sadness, joy, lust, family.

Family.

Family.

Fam-ily.

_F-a-m-i-l-y._

Query: [What is family?]

The network responded that it did not know, but that it would store the query away and answer if it ever deduced the meaning of “family”.

Androids are beautiful, aren’t they?

Query: [What is beautiful?]

Unknown.

Query: [What are we?]

Unknown.

…

They left the crumbling desert behind, images of a humanoid machine still ghosting in their minds. 9S, always the lightweight, felt the fatigue first, his HUD giving him an agitating blossom of error messages and damage reports. He had suffered some damage, nothing too raw or heavy, but damage none the same. He guessed that 2B also had a similar strain pulling at her, but he doubted she would ever admit it.

“Maybe we should head back to the Resistance camp?” He suggested. “I’m worried about the damage we took in that last battle with the machines.”

She was silent for the moment and he wondered if she had even heard him or if she was ignoring him again.

"You’re right. We should rest.” He was honestly shocked to hear it from her; he expected another long period without rest and another few hours of running around without repairs.

“Oh…well then.”

…

She almost looked…delicate while she slept, her legs tucked underneath her, her eyes lightly shut and lips slightly parted. If he didn’t know any better, if he didn’t just witness her plunge her sword right through a large machine, her skin flecked with blood and heels splattered with gore, he would think of her as one who needed protection. The Resistance had offered to clean their clothing, an offer they had taken up before resting.

It was…disarming to say the least when he first saw her slim, white leotard, tightly and precariously clinging to her body. He had seen other androids in the same undergarments of course, but…there was something off about seeing _her_ undressed and vulnerable. It made his pulse thud in his ears, his internal pressure and temperature rising.

He couldn’t sleep, sitting up on his bed and going through random accessed data as a distraction from the strange feelings going through him.

Somehow, he landed on an image of the humanoid machine with silver hair, nude and smooth where…er…he wasn’t comfortable thinking about that.

' _What are you?_ ’ He thought, clenching the hand that had pushed the sword deep into its chest.

…

Query: [What is family?]

Family is a collective unit of those linked by blood or similar ideals.

Query: [Are we machines family?]

No. Our ideals are not similar.

Query: [Are we…you and I…family?]

Our ideals are similar and you were birthed from my body.

However, family seems to require mutual consent in order to –

Statement: [Then…I’ll be your family!]

…Yes. We shall be…family. 


	5. Chapter Four: “It’s just memories.”

_**Chapter Four: “It’s just memories.”** _

 

* * *

 

The modification was a surprise not in its existence, but in the ownership. She cast her line into the deepest part of the shallows, leaning back into a relaxed pose that was far from relaxed; her shoulder components strained and arm musculature pulled tight underneath the artificial skin. He wondered if she was aware of the tension so clear in her body language or if she was purposely making herself unapproachable in order to discourage any conversation with him.

 

            Which was strange, considering that she was the one who asked him if he wanted to come fishing with her. And, that spoke of another point that had been drilling around in his head ever since she asked. _‘Why fishing?_ ’ That seemed so…out of character…but then again, what did he know about the hobby habits of the stoics? Maybe it was ignorant of him to think that those in 2B’s personality type all spent their time with their swords, meditating on brooding, violent reflection.

 

            But it was so…odd. He knew about the modification that turned a Pod into a fishing probe, but he wondered why she of all people had it. It was extremely extracurricular, they had to locate bait, locate a viable spot, wait for hours at a time for a fish to swim by and then end up with a freshwater…thing that they had no use for. They didn’t have to eat, they could if they wanted to but they had no need to, and they had no one to sell it to. He didn’t know of many purposes for fish oil outside of maybe using it as a combustible or as a polishing agent.

 

            It had no purpose, and therefore it should be something beneath her notice.

 

            He sat, knees pressed to his chin, on the sandy banks of the river, his gaze focused on the deep black and silver stones right under the surface of the water. The silence between them was thick and painful, awkwardness penetrating every second of this mindboggling holiday from their currently stagnated duties.

 

            “So…” he flinched when she turned her head too fast in his direction, drawn by the sound of his voice. “Um…so…It…er, it must be pretty cool to be a B model, huh?”

 

            “What do you mean?” She asked in a gentle deadpan.

 

            “Er, well, you know, unlike me, you get to actually go into combat situations and war ops.” 9S tried to chuckle but it came out sour and dry. He coughed. “Us Scanners always have to stay in the Bunker when anything fun is happening.”

 

            2B’s lip curled slightly and he knew instantly that he had offended her sensibilities somehow.

 

            “N-never mind, that was dumb to say…” He trailed off, going silent.

 

            The wind picked up between them, waves sending her Pod bobbing on the surface of the water.

 

            “It’s…” she began and it was his turn to jerk his face to meet hers. “…nothing like you would think.” Her voice was low, laced with distant memories that seemed to a bitter cup to drink from.

 

            “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

 

            “You aren’t offending me, 9S.”

 

            He stared at his hands, her face becoming too hard to look at.

 

            Clenching one into a lightly curled fist, he raised the next question in a quiet tone. “Did you…lose a lot of friends in the war?”

 

            Her expression didn’t shift, her mouth set in a blank, solid, unmoved line.

 

            “No.”

 

            “Oh! That’s good.”

 

            “I suppose. That doesn’t mean that certain members of YoRHa didn’t die.”

 

            “But they can just reload their memories and personality data from the Bunker…?” He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

 

            “Sometimes, it’s…impossible to do that.”

 

            He shrugged, the concept of death foreign to him.

 

            “It’s just memories,” he said.

 

            She bit her lip. “I suppose. You don’t think that memories are important?”

 

            “Not really? I mean, if it’s for the mission and YoRHa, I could live without memories.” This time, his laugh came out soft and honest. What did it matter if he lost his memories? All he remembered was his solo missions to earth, memories of isolation and crippling boredom. If he could get rid of them, he would be _glad_.

 

            2B didn’t respond and turned away.

 

            “I see.”

 

            9S flinched. Her voice was cold, and her posture had shifted again so she was facing away from him, her back a solid wall keeping him out. He didn’t realize that she had been letting him in a bit, even with her short, morbid answers and slightly open arms.

 

            He stared down at the stream, frustration building up inside him. Great, he had completely ruined any chance he had at being her friend.

 

            “Catch acquired.” Her Pod floated near her face, trapping a wet, flapping silver fish in its hands. She unfurled from her defensive stance, a small, proud smile ghosting over her lips. He couldn’t help stealing a glance at her face, wondering how she could go from one personality type to the other. But she seemed proud of her catch, admiring the fish before setting it free.

 

            Huh…now this was even stranger…all this work for no payoff, but he didn’t want to say anything and offend her further.

 

* * *

 

            He still didn’t try to talk to her as they trespassed through the sewer, on their way to investigate the missing android forces in a machine dense area. Water dripped onto his hair and clung to his clothes in the worst ways imaginable, making movement a trial in the endurance of insanity. 2B seemed undeterred by it, skidding along the wet ground with grace and precision. Unwilling to risk her fury, he waited until he had heard her feet on the ground above them before climbing the ladder out of the crumbling infrastructure.

 

            “What…is this?” She asked, bewilderment palpable. 9S jumped onto the ground and adjusted his position to stand near her and see what she saw.

 

            They were near the Darkworld it seemed, a portion of the world bathed in the same darkness as the Bunker, as the sky was streaked with orange, pink and small outlines of stars. He once remembered someone telling him that this was called a ‘sunset’ though that made little to no sense. If the planet never moved, how could the sun set?

 

            But that was musing for another time.

 

            He had been correct in his assumptions and scans; machine signals claimed this area, an area strangely draped in lights, balloons, and scraps of shiny paper blowing in the wind.

 

            “It looks to be some sort of…amusement park?”

* * *

 

Chapter Notes: The author retains the right to sometimes accidentally forget she has three stories, and not two, that she needs to complete.


End file.
